


i see the stars, they're in your eyes

by Razzaroo



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzaroo/pseuds/Razzaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Declan and Ashley hardly have what can be a called a fairy tale relationship</p>
            </blockquote>





	i see the stars, they're in your eyes

They meet at a party.

He approaches her, in his pressed shirt and expensive jeans and this is exactly what Ashley wants to happen. She kicks out the chair opposite her, an obvious invitation, and hitches her skirt slightly higher because she knows what Declan Lynch looks for when he looks for company and she knows how to get what she wants from him.

There’s an understanding between Declan Lynch and the people who take him home. Ashley appreciates that.

 “You look lonely,” he says as he sits, “Hate to see ladies alone.”

“Mm,” Ashley says, “I’m not keen on being alone.”

She slides one foot up his leg and he smiles. She knows there are people who live for that smile and here it is, directed at her. She smiles back and she hopes that he knows how many people her smile has melted as well.

“So,” she says, resting her chin on her hands, knowing exactly how much he was seeing of her cleavage, “What brings an Aglionby boy here?”

“Looking for someone,” Declan says, “But they’re not here.”

Ashley cocks her head to the side, mock puzzlement across her face, “But you found me.”

“True,” he says, “I think I prefer you, to be honest.”

“I’m flattered. Do you think your mystery friend will put in an appearance?”

“Doubtful.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

Declan looks at her, “So are you.”

There’s an invitation behind those words – _I’m here, you’re here, there are better places for us both to be –_ and Ashley takes it. Her smile changes, from inviting sweetness to outright flirtation, and she stands.

“I don’t have to be,” she says, “I have some very good whiskey at home and a very nice car to get us there.”

“I like a woman with a plan.”

She takes his arm when he stands and takes a moment to admire the muscles beneath her hands. Declan Lynch is a well-built creature and Ashley adores beautiful architecture. He lets her, clearly amused and enjoying her attention.  Ashley breathes in the smell of him and she knows she’s made a good choice for her company this evening.

She fucks him in the back seat of her car, all grasping hands and breathless kisses and her name on his tongue. When she takes him home, she tumbles him in her bed and he holds onto her like she is the only thing in the world.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Don’t be,” Declan says shortly, “You didn’t kill him.”

“OK, rephrase. I’m sorry you lost your dad.”

“That was careless of me.”

The pair of them were together on Ashley’s bed, both fully clothed. The shaft of sunlight across Declan’s face highlights the bruise on his cheek and Ashley traces it, her touch light and gentle. She bites her lip.

“Who’s this from?” she asks, “Have you become reckless?”

“My brother,” Declan says, “He’s taking it badly.”

Ashley wants to scoff; as if Niall Lynch being beaten to death hadn’t been hard on all three of his sons. But then she remembers that it was Ronan who had found his father and how fond Declan is of his brother and she holds her tongue. Instead, she turns and she kisses his cheek.

“You can stay here, you know,” she says, “if you don’t want to go home.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he replies and his eyes are hard, “It’s what I have to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

There are some people Ashley would like to avoid. Declan’s younger brother is one of them, with his sharp tongue and venomous eyes, but she also knows she has nothing to fear from him; traumatised teenagers aren’t what keep her up at night.

Joseph Kavinsky is an entirely other matter.

He approaches her outside a church, of all places, while she’s sat waiting on the bonnet of Declan’s car. He leans in and she presses a foot to his shoulder, a clear signal for him to keep his distance; her scowl is reflected in those ridiculous white sunglasses he wears.

“You have a nice new toy,” he says, “I’ve had fun with that one.”

Ashley raises an eyebrow, “Please. Declan’s a whore but he has standards.”

“And how much is he charging you?”

“Probably a whole lot less than you’d have to pay.”

She kicks him away and her sandal leaves a dirty mark on his white t-shirt. Kavinsky grinned, a slow expression, and plants his hands on the bonnet, one on either side of her. There’s nowhere for her to go, unless she moves back and over the windscreen.

“Back off,” she says, “God’s watching.” She looks at her watch and she knows service will be ending soon; she’s done this before, “You might want to leave. We both know no one’s coming out for you.”

His smile slips and he steps back. Ashley watches him slink away and knows he isn’t really leaving; he’ll sit somewhere and watch the congregation and, by the time he emerges again, Ronan will be long gone.

When Declan comes out to her, Ashley wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him, ignoring Ronan’s gagging sounds. Matthew says something, Declan responds and Ashley ignores them, instead resting her head against Declan’s chest. It’s a show of affection that’s only half for him; it’s also for Kavinsky.

_Look at me_ , it says.

_I got what I want._

* * *

 

 

“This language makes no sense to me.”

Declan, looking more relaxed than Ashley’s seen him since they’d met, flips through her book of Welsh poetry. Ashley has a sneaking suspicion that his chilled state has everything to do with the bottle of bourbon tucked at his side.

“You don’t drink much, do you?” Ashley says and she takes the bottle, “I’ll take that.”

“Not since I was…sixteen?” Declan grimaced, “We don’t talk about that.”

While drunkenness makes the tongue loose, Ashley isn’t in the mood to dig into Declan’s past; what she knows already is bad enough. Instead, she puts the bottle down and pushes his legs out of the way so she could sit. She plucks the book out of his hands.

“It only makes no sense because you don’t know it,” she says, “like I don’t know Irish. That’s a language that makes no sense. Why does it need all those Hs?”

“Irish,” Declan says, “is a language of dreams.”

He laughs then and Ashley isn’t sure how she feels about a Declan Lynch under the influence of her father’s bourbon. She flips through the book, stopping on her favourite. Declan looks at her, dark hair in his face, and it takes a moment for his eyes to focus.

“It makes sense coming from you,” he says, “You make it sound…real.”

“Yeah?” Ashley says. She traces the rim of the bottle, “I make a lot of things real.”

“Don’t,” he says, “Don’t say that. My father used to say that.”

“You don’t remember him so fondly?”

“The only thing my father didn’t ruin was my mother.”

He goes quiet then, as if he feels that he’s said too much. He doesn’t talk about his mother; Aurora Lynch is the sore spot he shields most, even moreso than Ronan. Ashley picks up the bourbon, pours some out in the cap and hands it to him. She watches him down it, her mouth pulled down.

“You need therapy, babe.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ashley’s no stranger to bruises. She’d been helping her friends cover them up with makeup for years; she’s done it for martial arts bruises and sibling fight bruises and even a mark left by a horse. She’s even covered some of Declan’s before.

But this…

This is something else.

“Jesus, Declan,” she says, dropping her bag onto the floor, “Are you OK?”

She pushes his hair from his face and gently lifts the ice pack to see the black eye beneath. He looks terrible but she won’t say it because he knows it already. There’s painkillers on the bed next to him and his phone keeps buzzing with texts from Matthew.

“He doesn’t believe in single texts,” Declan says when she looks, “if he wanted to say everything in one go, he’d just call me.”

Ashley lowers the icepack again, holds it in place. Declan’s hand rests on her hip, thumb hooked in her belt loop, and she can feel the chill of his skin.

He says it was someone after money. She doesn’t how much she believes that.

She knows how far Niall Lynch’s web goes. It’s never just about money.

 

* * *

 

 

She asks him why he is the way he is.

Declan looks at her, puzzled; she’s never been curious before, accepting his rakishness as part and parcel of their arrangement. But it’s a long drive to DC and Ashley knows that he knows more about her than she does about him.

“You know I’m all about equality,” she says, “but if you don’t want to tell me about that, fine. Tell me something else about you. Some embarrassing childhood secret.”

The only sound between them is the radio. Declan changes gear and Ashley can see him rolling his thoughts over, even while he concentrates on the road. She pulls her jacket closer and watches the lights go by at the side of the road. Eventually, Declan takes a breath and he tells her.

He tells it as if it happened to someone else, as if the Declan Lynch he’s talking about is not the same Declan Lynch in the driver’s seat next to her. He tells her and she feels something hot gathering at the back of her throat.

“Do your brothers know?” she asks and the lack of light makes him a shadow.

“No,” he says, “the only other person who knew is dead.”

 

* * *

 

 

They’ve been together for near enough a year when Declan tells Ashley he loves her.

For the first time, she’s the one who’s awake in the small hours of the morning. Declan’s in the place between dreaming and awake, his sleeping pills starting to work their own modern magic, and he says it into her hair, his voice heavy and thick. She’s quiet for a moment, surprise settling in her core.

“You OK there?” she asks, wondering how much someone like Declan Lynch can mean it when he says ‘ _love’,_ if he’ll even remember it.

“Mm. You’re here.”

He speaks no more after that, finally falling asleep. Ashley lies there and traces the shape of his face with one finger; his nose never did heal quite right. It’s odd to her, really, how much a year can change something. She realises how much she’s going to miss him when she goes away.

She kisses him but she’s no fairy tale prince; he doesn’t stir.

If love is what he wants to call it, she’ll accept it.

She’ll listen.


End file.
